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Drug-induced escape

The anesthetist parted the curtain and came into the enclosure.

“It’s time for us to get you to the operating room and into surgery,” she said. “Are you all right?”

A couple of nurses in masks stood next to him. Everything seemed to be in motion.

“Do you think you could leave me here for another five minutes?” I said. “Actually, you could leave me here for the rest of my life.”

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               It’s been a frustrating season. In many ways, what’s happened to me in the last few weeks have brought me a new sense of myself. Like everyone, I walk around as if I know who I am and know what I want to do. But inwardly, I’m lost, poking around in the dark, and wondering if I’m on the right track.


Willy and the picnic

What was happening in the Black community was a world apart from our white neighborhood. School went on as planned. We went to church on Sunday mornings, a ritual enacted every week the same way. My dad went to work every day before we woke and made ready for school. He came home every night to the excitement of the children. We mobbed him as he came in the door and he always said something to the tune of, “All right. All right. Let me get in the house.”

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Bigots and cowards

The kid in the Javelin was more circumspect than many of the other students I knew that the school. He doubted the existence of a loving God, for instance, and eschewed membership in any of the rigid cliques among the students. I looked up to him, as he seemed so free compared to me and many of my classmates.

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Knives and rednecks

Having been a sensitive, empathetic boy, I was prone to all sorts of daydreams and flights of mind and spirit. At grade school and high school, I was clumsy, half-hearted in athletic pursuit, and didn’t have a great deal of rapport with the other kids in my neighborhood, who could be cruel and vindictive.

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